


i know you're somewhere out there (somewhere far away)

by timelxrd



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU one shot, F/F, Human!thirteen, Whump, busker!thirteen, in case you don't have enough of them already, thasmin, thirteen x yasmin khan, thirteenth doctor au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 02:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/pseuds/timelxrd
Summary: There’s a flash of neon green and black to her right and, almost immediately, she turns to accommodate the sight. For the fifth time this week, her gaze settles on the dark-haired police officer currently ambling her way along the street towards her, hands tucked into the pockets of her police-issued coat. She must be warm, Jenny finds herself thinking.





	i know you're somewhere out there (somewhere far away)

The strings of her guitar are cold beneath her fingertips while autumn gives way to winter’s chill, faltering her movements for a moment before her instinct kicks in. Musicians fingers dance in a familiar pattern while Jenny adjusts her posture. She ducks her head in order to reach the budget microphone she’d bought from a charity shop two streets away. The first lyrics that leave her lips linger in a cloud of mist centimetres from her delicate features, catching a handful of passers-by off-guard. 

_ “I was scared of dentists and the dark, _

_ I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations,” _

She’s smiling in earnest by the end of the second verse, adjusting the patterned blue beanie on her head as she pauses between lines. Her nose is pink from the cold, but her features glow in the early morning light of Sheffield town centre. 

_ “Oh, all my friends are turning green, _

_ You're the magician's assistant in their dreams,” _

A young girl, hand-in-hand with their father, sends her an amused grin when she seems to sing the words to her in particular. She offers up a clumsy wave which leads her to fumble with her guitar. While she re-navigates her way around the steel-string, she raps her knuckles against the weathered wood in a similar rhythm. 

_ “Lady, running down to the riptide, _

_ Taken away to the dark side, _

_ I wanna be your left-hand woman.” _

An elderly couple pause, hovering before the roguish-looking blonde with ripped jeans and an oversized leather jacket. They evaluate and judge her dress sense a little too scruffy for their liking, but the grin on her face overrules their choice to frown in disapproval and continue on. When she glances in their direction, her eyes light up in silent greeting, fingertips returning to their place against bound steel. She thinks she hears them chattering away about a granddaughter of theirs in a manner so fond she feels almost honoured to remind them of. 

A sprinkling of coins fall into her open guitar case not a second later, the creases in the corners of her eyes highlighted in the grateful smile she sends in the couple’s direction. 

_ “I love you when you're singing that song and, _

_ I got a lump in my throat 'cause, _

_ You're gonna sing the words wrong,” _

There’s a flash of neon green and black to her right and, almost immediately, she turns to accommodate the sight. For the fifth time this week, her gaze settles on the dark-haired police officer currently ambling her way along the street towards her, hands tucked into the pockets of her police-issued coat. She must be warm, Jenny finds herself thinking. 

Once she’s close enough_,_ Jenny transitions to a slower-paced song, gentler in tone. 

_ “She says I smell like safety and home, _

_ I named both of her eyes forever and please don't go.” _

As if by magic, the young police officer picks up on the voice she’d been growing used to on her morning rounds, glancing in Jenny’s general vicinity until she locks eyes with the blonde entirely. A slim brow arches when she notices her open smile melt into a slow smirk, as if challenging her to continue her public serenade. 

_ “I could be a morning sunrise all the time, all the time, yeah, _

_ This could be good, this could be good.” _

Jenny buzzes with adrenaline the minute brown eyes meet green, her foot tapping against the paved ground while she croons the words into the space between them. She's momentarily blind to the hundreds of people walking through the busy street, honing in on the expression of the intriguing, drop-dead _ gorgeous _ , and somewhat familiar stranger. Perhaps she’d dreamt her up at some point? Perhaps she’s _ still _ dreaming? 

As Yaz turns to carry on along the street, she keeps her eyes on the blonde’s talented hands. There’s a part of her which would love to stop for a casual bout of questioning, but she’s on parole and she can’t risk stepping out of line even for a busker, an _ adorable _ busker at that.

_ “What's your middle name? _

_ Do you hate your job? _

_ Do you fall in love too easily? _

_ What's your favourite word? _

_ You like kissing girls? _

_ Can I call you baby?” _

Jenny croons the lyrics off in a silent plea for the woman to turn back around and head back along the street. Christ, she’s half tempted to cause a scene if only to capture her attention again. When she thinks she’s lost her chance, a laugh rings out over the police officer’s shoulder, alongside a knowing smirk, and Jenny mirrors the expression right back. For today, that’s the last she’ll see of her, but anticipation rushes to her gut at the thought of what tomorrow might bring. 

* * *

When Yaz next sees the bubbly blonde, it’s in a less than pleasant scenario. 

Soft, pink lips are now swollen and bloodied, and green irises contrast against the ring of black around her left eye. Her guitar is battered beyond repair at her side. 

Yaz’s heart breaks at the lost look in her eyes when she flinches out of the paramedic’s touch, tucking her knees up to her chest. A drop of blood leaks from the wound gracing her bottom lip. 

Ushering the paramedic away for the moment with a small smile, Yaz crouches down to the blonde’s level. As soon as their eyes meet, the other woman’s battered lip curls up. She really shouldn’t find her bloody smile so attractive. “Hey.”

“Hi,” the blonde relaxes under her gaze, peeling her grazed knuckles from their purchase on her knees and finally allowing the medics to patch her up as much as they can. 

“I’m PC Yasmin Khan, but my friends call me Yaz,” the young police officer smiles, warm but concerned. “Can you tell me what happened here?”

“You’re even prettier up close. Didn’t think I'd have to get mugged first to finally meet you properly," she pauses, regarding her anew. "Totally worth it, though,” she adds flirtatiously, the warmth centring in Yaz’s cheeks only spurring her on. 

“_ Ma’am _,” Yaz chides, but it’s more playful than authoritative. “Can I get your name, please?”

“Jennifer Smith. Everyone calls me Jenny — but _ you _ can call me whatever you like,” the blonde smirks, leaning back against the wall when her head begins to whirl. 

Yaz notices the movement despite her best attempt to hide it. She rolls her eyes fondly at her awful chat-up lines, but somehow, with her unique charm, she has to admit they work. “You okay there, Jenny?” 

“I’m fine, just a headache,” Jenny bats off the insinuation, reaching up to touch her fingertips to her temple. When they come away red and slick, she scrunches her nose. “You should see the other guy.” 

And then, just as quick as she winks, Jenny slumps forward. She’s inches from the cold, hard ground when Yaz catches her, relieved to be informed she’d only fainted. 

“Does she have any emergency contacts?” the paramedic questions as Yaz lifts the blonde into her arms, fireman-style, and settles her on a stretcher for the ambulance team to take over. 

“I couldn’t get much out of her, sorry,” Yaz bites back a frown when an oxygen mask is placed over the woman’s nose and mouth. She looks a lot smaller in the bright lights and chaos in the back of the ambulance. “But I clock off in ten minutes, so I could go with her for now? I wouldn’t want her to wake up in the hospital with no idea what’s going on.” 

“See you there, then, ma’am.” The older gentleman gives her a knowing smile, but Yaz is too distracted by the injured woman to register. 

When Jenny wakes up beneath blinding lights to the smell of hand sanitiser and awful hospital food, she frowns in confusion. The movement tugs unpleasantly at the stitches woven into her bottom lip, and she turns her head to the side when the lights above her make her head pound. 

“Hey, sweet-talker,” a familiar voice teases from her bedside, earning a scrunch of her nose.

She opens heavy lids to take in the sight of the police officer she’d been fawning over for days, and suddenly the aches and stings haunting her body dissipate into nothingness. “Did I rub a genie lamp _ really _hard last night?”

“Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?” Yaz fires back, delighting in the unfeigned laugh she receives by way of response. 

* * *

“I don’t know if you should be playing at the minute, but—“ Yaz pauses, adjusting her stance before she slips the instrument from behind her back. She presents it to the blonde lounging on her couch with a shy smile, a hint of a blush to her cheeks. 

Reaching out with her uninjured hand, Jenny gasps. The guitar is engraved with looping scrawls and a series of hand-carved stars. Her initials dance along the back of the instrument as she brushes her hand over the surface, moisture pooling in the corners of her eyes. “You didn’t! This is — this is — oh, _ Yaz. _ She’s _ beautiful.” _

Yaz sinks into the space at her side, making room for Jenny’s typically sprawled out form. “You think so?” 

“Thank you. Thank you _ so much,” _Jenny whispers, strumming her fingers over the chords and humming a familiar tune. She curls her injured hand around the neck of the guitar — her broken wrist has healed enough to only cause minor discomfort by now, so she slips into a familiar pattern with ease. 

“Play me something,” Yaz murmurs, cheeks burning pink, self-conscious and shy. 

”I’d love to,” Jenny smiles, sitting back against the arm of the chair to better face the other woman. 

It had been a month since the incident, a month of cat-and-mouse and ridiculous flirting until Yaz had finally had some time off for a proper date. They’d been to a concert in town, where Jenny had eagerly sung along to every lyric and Yaz had watched on in fond amusement. 

Now, tucked up in Yaz’s apartment, Jenny croons the first verse, lashes fluttering as her hands work over brand new steel strings. 

_ “The cars all stop where they are, _

_ When you take my hand, there is no time,” _

Her eyes close and her foot taps out a faint rhythm against the carpet as she loses herself to the feeling she’d missed while recovering. Her words seem to hold a certain weight this time around, so she focuses on the lyrics as much as she can. 

_ “Every moment that passes by with you, _

_ I wish I could rewind.” _

Yaz all but melts at her side, sinking into her couch and biting back the dopey smile just waiting to break free. 

_ “Let go of your ways, _

_ And forget today, _

_ Just follow me tonight.” _

She decides, then and there that she probably would follow Jenny anywhere she asked. She finds herself thinking how funny it is that events can fall into place when you’re least expecting — when you hadn’t even set out to achieve them in the first place. Yaz follows long as slim digits work their magic against the chords, wetting her lips when her thoughts begin to wander. 

“Oi, I’m _ serenading _ you here, Yaz, and you’re busy staring at my hands?” Jenny sighs, interrupting the song to wave one such hand shy of Yaz’s features. 

“I’m — that’s not — _ shut up,” _Yaz sighs, folding her arms when Jenny snorts. 

_ “And doesn't the night go slow? _

_ When we are here alone, _

_ Something inside you shows.” _

Jenny continues, meeting her gaze this time, her lips curling into a smirk. 

Unwavering, Yaz leans in, tilting her head and stifling a bashful giggle against her shoulder. 

_ “With no distractions, my only reaction to you is the joy I found, _

_ And I don't think I can let this moment go.” _

She’s stopped strumming now, guitar settling at her side while she croons the lyrics to the woman at her side. Her tone has shifted, turning lighter, quieter. 

_ “Doesn't the night go slow?” _

When their lips meet, Jenny hums, the sound as melodic as the words she’d been all but sighing a second earlier. 

As predicted, their night does, indeed, slow to a steady, impassioned waltz.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading folks!!


End file.
